


Stray

by AdrenalineRevolver



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adoption, Adorable Cosette, Parent Valjean, Trans Montparnasse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-10-14 21:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17516462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrenalineRevolver/pseuds/AdrenalineRevolver
Summary: Montparnasse attempts to suss out the lecturing old man as a potential patron. Unfortunately/fortunately Valjean isn't that sort of papa.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note this is my first time writing an explicitly trans character for a fic so if I screw up please let me know.  
> Also: Yes this is a rage fic dedicated entirely to davies.

The boy from before was back. The dark haired one that had attempted to mug him. Like a stray cat that had been given a scrap of food he had returned to sniff around for more money. Though is approach was different this time. His smile was positively coquettish as he made excuses to get closer. Valjean had to bite back his disgust at having a child flirting with him. 

At some point he had introduced himself as Montparnasse, a name Valjean had heard whispered about on occasion. He would be doing more than just the boy a favor by helping him. Valjean recalled how negatively the boy reacted to being lectured so unfortunately he must take another approach. 

“Come with me.” He interrupted the boy’s attempts at being appealing and it seemed to throw him off. 

“Oh I would love to; however, I’m afraid it’s a touch early for such a thing.” He laughed to cover up the nerves that had settled in. No doubt he had intended to take the money and flee rather than make good on any of his implications.

“There is work I must do. Come with me and you shall have your money afterwards.” Valjean began to walk and resisted the urge to grin when the boy followed after. So singularly focused.

“Of course sir, though my father will be quite cross if I’m not home by nightfall.” He quickly explained as he caught up. His tone shifted to a darker one as he tried to spell out a threat along with his story. “He’s quite protective.”

Valjean knew this to be the babbling of a conman who hadn’t expected things to play out this way but he allowed the boy to have his out, however poorly constructed. No actual villain intent on taking advantage of the situation would truly care about the threat of an angry father. It was tempting to tell him so but it would only frighten him off rather than teach him anything. 

At some point during their journey Montparnasse ventured to lock arms with him. Valjean sincerely hoped he was armed because conducting ones self like this without a weapon would be too risky. He likely was, given the things that Valjean had heard.

They didn't speak of much on their way through the city. Montparnasse was vague about himself and overly flattering of Valjean whenever he got the chance. Though Valjean did notice the way he preened when a passing couple of women noted that he was handsome, it was like watching a peacock put itself on display.

He heard Montparnasse sigh and a glance revealed that he rolled his eyes when they approached the church. Yet he said nothing. 

“I will be passing out food on behalf of the church.” Valjean explained. 

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t let his criticism slip; he was still playing this false character. 

“What is it?” He was curious about the inner workings of such a vain young thing.

“Nothing sir.” Montparnasse put on his act again once he realized he was noticed.

“Should you want your money you will tell me.” An easy threat that he knew would produce results, he wouldn’t follow through on it either way.

“It’s useless.” He waved his hand. “They were hungry yesterday. They will be hungry tomorrow. You cannot feed the whole of Paris so why waste your time? It will only make them believe in a kindness that isn’t in the world.” 

Valjean was surprised when he had to fight back the urge to shake the boy. His pessimism and belief in the inherent cruelty of life was painfully similar to the way Valjean himself had been at this age. Yet it was kindness that saved him. It was kindness he must show. “If that kindness isn’t there then we shall have to put it there won’t we?”

Montparnasse didn’t seem particularly moved but said nothing. 

While Montparnasse was likely under the impression that he did nothing to assist Valjean noticed him speaking to a young girl. He spoke to her as an equal rather than a child; perhaps it was his own relatively young age or more likely the fact that he understood that she wasn’t allowed to be a little girl and thus speaking down to her wasn’t appropriate. By the end of the meal the girl had gone from holding herself in such a way that made her look like a wilted flower to being as rambunctious as the other children. There seemed to be a ghost of a decent person still within him. 

As they left he ventured to mention it. 

“You did a good job.” He kept his praise vague.

“I don’t recall doing anything, sir.” There was a touch of bite in ‘sir’ this time.

“Of course you don’t. You likely don’t even know what you did. Though I would say you’ve earned this.” He handed him a large portion of the money he was carrying. Should he be judicious with it, the money would last a week. Likely it would only last Montparnasse the evening. 

Like presenting a child with a doll his entire being seemed to brighten. It was almost comical. “A pleasure doing business with you.” He hid the money away before bowing. “Here’s hoping our next outing will be a bit more fun.” He gave a flirtatious wink before disappearing into the darkness of the alley. 

Valjean was rapidly developing a headache. 

In the coming weeks the boy visited with growing confidence. Valjean always had a small task for him to complete to earn his allowance and be it assisting the church, the poor, or simply attending dinner and Montparnasse had grown less and less averse to it. One night he’d even forgotten to demand his payment. 

He even got along well with Cosette. Occasionally he would come home to find the two chatting over tea. Montparnasse never seemed to flirt with her the way he had tried with Valjean and the occasional passer-by; it reassured Valjean that he actually enjoyed her company. 

He made her so happy. It had been some time since she had had a friend. Coming home to see her in good spirits was the highlight of his day. Yet when he arrived today Cosette ran up to him in tears. 

“Montparnasse’s been injured!” Cosette took his hand and practically dragged him to her bedroom. “He won’t let me help him!”

Montparnasse was laying on the bed with his hand on his chest, his dark waistcoat was bloodied and medical supplies were strewn about. “My apologizes, I’m afraid I’ve gotten blood on the sheets.” He attempted to laugh but winced at the strain.

“There’s no need to be sorry.” Valjean hurried to his side and tried to move his hands only to have him pull away. “You could bleed to death unless you allow me to help you.” 

“I…I’ll be fine.” He tried to insist.

Valjean lowers his voice. “If it’s privacy you’d like then Cosette can step out however I will need to do this or you will die.” 

The true threat of death seemed to be enough to make him relent. He looked away and noded. 

Cosette rushed over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be right outside.” She left quickly so that Valjean could get to work. 

Right away Valjean opened the shirt only to find bloodied bandages already in place. “What..?”

Montparnasse just griped the sheets as if he’s in pain and Valjean pushed his confusion aside. 

When he cut away the bandages he finds the reason why they were already in use, he was actively attempting to flatten his chest. Valjean barely paused before putting pressure on the wound. Now was not the time.

Montparnasse gasped in pain and attempted to jump away out of instinct.

Valjean put his hand on his arm. “Don’t move, son. What happened?”

Montparnasse froze entirely. His eyes were wide and quickly filled with tears that he refused to let fall. “I…I got into an argument, it ended poorly. I hesitated during a job and they demanded to know why.” It seemed difficult for him to keep his voice steady.

“Why did you hesitate?” Valjean hated to do this now, but it was important.

“I don’t know.” His frustration was palpable. “I don’t know.” He very likely truly didn’t know.

“It’s alright.” Valjean maintained pressure on the wound. “It’s deep enough to be messy but it should be alright if you’re careful. This was a warning.” He felt responsible for getting him hurt, though he was happy with the change. It was amazing progress.

“I’m aware…” Montparnasse kept his eyes on the wall. 

“You would be better off working alone if you insist on continuing this. Whoever it was that did this now thinks of you as a possible liability.” He carefully began to wrap the wound. 

Montparnasse looked shocked. “You would allow me to continue?”

“If you’re going to you should be safe.” Valjean said simply. He would rather him not however should he be insistent he might as well be safe.

“You’re…” He shook his head. “You’re mad.”

“Perhaps.” He finished up the bandaging. “There.”

Montparnasse relaxed into the bed. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Valjean began picking up the bloodied spare bandages. 

He seemed contemplative for once. After a beat of silence he spoke up. “You called me son…”

Valjean nodded. “I did.”

“But I am…” He trailed off.

“Like Chevalier d’Éon? Only god can judge such things and I make no claims of being holy. Rest now. You need it.” He had heard of the Chevalier who lived the second part of their life as a woman. He had never once seen the boy act womanly, flirtatious with other men yes, but even in that he was unlike a woman. It didn’t seem like he was cross-dressing, if it was he would have worn a woman’s dress in his initial attempt to be seductive under the implication that it would have gotten better results had he at all been comfortable with the idea. Likely he thought of wearing a dress the way other young men did. His condition must be akin to being born with legs that won’t carry you, the mind is rather in tact but the body betrays you. Or at least that was all Valjean had to compare it to. Perhaps it was why he obsessed over appearances.

“Are you certain you’re not holy?” It wasn’t quite a joke and wasn’t quite serious.

Valjean smiles. “Absolutely. I simply try to put the kindness in this world that it lacks.”

He looked away, his cheeks a faint pink. 

“Rest. No doubt you’re exhausted.” He pulled the sheets up over him.

“Yes…” He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, it rather reminded Valjean of Cosette doing the same as a little girl after she’d caused trouble and didn’t want to talk about it.

Valjean once again let the boy have his ruse; he had been through enough as it was. He had to go reassure a pacing Cosette before she broke through the floor anyway. 

“Is he alright? Why wouldn’t he let me help?” She rushed over to hug him the moment he left. “Is all of that from him?” There was a note of horror in her voice when she noticed the bloodied bandages. 

“In order: He will be, young men are capable of modesty as well, and yes it’s all his blood. I would have it be mine if I could.” He would have stroked her hair however his hands weren’t exactly clean. 

“But he’ll live, yes?” She glanced past him at the door. 

Valjean smiled. “Should he avoid infection he’ll be fine. Though I suspect the scar will bruise his ego.”

Cosette batted at his arm but smiles nonetheless. “He was nearly killed. He can be as vain as he wants to be.” 

“Of course, where are my manners?” He laughed.

“Teasing my poor brother while he’s on death’s door.” She shook her head. 

Valjean couldn’t help but sigh. That is what he was, wasn’t he? “Do wait to tell him that, I fear the shock will end him quicker than any wound.”

“He’s a strong young man, he’ll live.” Cosette smiled brightly before heading off to make tea for the three of them. 

Yes, yes he will.


	2. Recover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a much needed rest Valjean checks on Montparnasse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a.k.a I got angry at Valjean being portrayed as a terrible dad again so we get another chapter.

When Montparnasse woke, or rather admitted to being awake, Valjean was by his side. “Cosette made tea, it’s gone cold by now but she insisted that if something was made with roses you would have it for the aesthetic alone.” He smiled and showed Montparnasse that Cosette had put little petals around the cup and made two ugly little macarons. “I convinced her to let you rest so she had to put her energy somewhere.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sweet. Cracked. And chronically unappreciated. I think she baked her own metaphor.”

Valjean smiled. “She also left a note with it, while I haven’t read it I would recommend you wait to read it.”

He of course grabbed it immediately. Honestly, Valjean should have expected that. 

“Have you ever known patience?” He teased. 

Montparnasse glanced at him like it was a ridiculous question and opened the note in a flurry of movements. He froze when he saw what was written. For a moment he went to rip it in two but stopped shy of it. “Didn’t read this be damned.” He accused. He was still too tired to muster any real bite.

“I truly don’t know. I can make guesses from knowing her heart. Though those are just the guesses of an old man.” He was curious what would garner such a reaction. 

“She’s a fool and so are you. This entire affair is foolish.” He sounded breathless. Shaken.

“How so?” Valjean asked.

“I am…I am no simple thief. I’m an assassin. A murderer.” He practically spit his words.

“I’m aware. I am an ex convict in violation of his parole. Nineteen years, five for stealing bread to feed my sister’s children, the rest for attempting to secure my freedom. I have been on the run with Cosette for years after all but purchasing her from her abusers.” It was a risk that had to be taken.

Montparnasse stared at him silently for a few moments. “Why help people so openly? Why stay in Paris?” He tries to sit up but finds it too painful. “Why tell me? If I have no value for human lives surely I would just sell this information!”

Valjean smiled and put his hand on Montparnasse’s shoulder. “If you had no value for human life you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have hesitated.”

“It was a moment of weakness. One you don’t know will be repeated.” He stared at the wall ahead of him to aid in his obstinacy.

“Then why did you hesitate?” He echoed what he asked last night.

“I…It wasn’t necessary, that’s all. He was a coward. A sniveling coward that hid his face the moment he realized he was in danger. He saw none of us so even if he reported it the trouble would be minor at most. His tongue could have been cut out instead if need be. Why bother dulling your blade on a man shaking like a leaf in a hurricane? So I let him go. He took two steps and was shot in the back. He wasn’t even on his feet yet. Like shooting a dog.” He began angry but as he went he was something much more akin to upset. Perturbed even. “A worthless mongrel. And then the gun was aimed at me. My loyalty was questioned. My intelligence. I would have been shot as well had one of them not taken out their knife and cut me with it. “Don’t worry about it. If he comes back he won’t fail again.” He imitates a voice for the last portion. “Bastard.”

“He saved your life.” Valjean explained. “He prevented your execution and gave you a reason to not return should you want to take it. I doubt he truly wants you to if he was at all your friend.” 

“That old man likely hasn’t had friends in a lifetime. He was...He was also aware.” Montparnasse waved his hand vaguely.

“Then I am certain he doesn’t want you to return. He attacked your chest for a reason as well; he wanted your attention drawn to it. I doubt he feels like you have the leeway for mercy. The cruel hiding in Paris’ dark alleyways see mercy and kindness as something only befitting a nun. In a violent and dangerous manner he may have been trying to spare you. To the others there you were punished and possibly frightened away, to him he attempted to impart advice to a young man at a life threatening crossroads. Or perhaps that is only my hopes for his intentions.” Valjean said.

“You would hope that an attack would have paternal intentions.” He lets out a single laugh before wincing. “Fuck! Barely allowed to breathe, not at all allowed to laugh! If only I’d bled to death. I would have been a beautiful corpse.”

“But then you would have no macarons.” Valjean offers him one.

Montparnasse glares before tossing the note and hitting him in the face with it. “And no idiocy.”

Valjean read the note quietly. It was only a handful of carefully written words. Yet he could see why they would be devastating to someone such as Montparnasse. 

“Please don’t leave again.”

He read it once. Twice. Three times. 

“I agree whole heartedly. She likely should have waited until you were feeling better.” He knew it was a chore for her not to be in here worrying over him herself.

“She’s not ignorant. I’ve told her my profession.” Montparnasse told him, likely expecting it to garner rage.

He wanted to be frustrated that she had kept it a secret from him, though he had kept many from her. “She’s known worse people.”

“Funny, that’s nearly exactly how she phrased it. What makes them so much worse?” His temper was starting to truly boil.

“Torturing a woman to death with tales of her dying child for the sake of a few sous. Selling that child to a man they don’t know.” Valjean recounted.

“Then you will come to your senses when I tell you I was in his employ.” He seemed smug for the moment.

Valjean grinned softly and leaned in. “Was?”

Montparnasse’s eyes went wide and if he had his weapon he very likely would have cut out his own tongue. “Just…just stop.” 

“I am glad you’ve slipped away from him.” He pat his shoulder. 

“Stop this.” He was determined to look everywhere but Valjean. “It hurts.” Any ounce of authority threatened to give way to desperation.

“It needs to.” Valjean wished he could bear this for him, no one could. It was a torture Montparnasse had carved out for himself.

“Why? Why bother with anything that hurts?” Where his previous questions had been laden with sarcasm and anger all he could carry now was confusion. He truly didn’t understand why anything would be worth suffering.

Valjean again held out the macaron. “These undeniably hurt to create. To grind the flour is painful to the hands, to whip the egg is painful to the arms, to find that most fail to turn out as they appear in shop windows is painful to the heart. However, for those that enjoy them the pain is a worthy price to pay.” He continued on a much-needed tangent. “Everything has a price even if you bake it your self or steal it. Should you create it yourself the price is the pain you caused yourself. Should you steal it the price is the pain you caused another. Ultimately that pain is only borrowed.”

Montparnasse laughed, tired and broken. “Is the macaron a metaphor again?”

“It is.” He nodded. 

Montparnasse stared at the cookie that wasn’t quite a cookie in his hand intensely. Valjean could watch him weigh a million things in his mind. Were the implications not as they were it would be quite comical to see a young man staring at a harmless treat as if it might jump up and attack him. He seemed truly tired, his usual superficial beauty worn thin with exhaustion and pain. It served to highlight the small imperfections that already existed upon him; dark circles under his eyes a lack of sleep, cheekbones a touch too sharp from not eating as he should.   
He was being torn apart and the most Valjean could do is hope.

A hand flew out and silently snatched the macaron from Valjean’s hand with enough speed and force that he was nearly cut. When he thought about it such a reaction was the only appropriate one. Montparnasse took everything he decided he wanted in such a way; swiftly, fiercely, and with an underlying fear that another would take it first. Of course he would wretch something like this from another’s hand. He inspects the macaron like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Tell Cosette her irresponsibility is appreciated.” 

“I will tell her you said thank you.” He stood to go.

“Same thing.” He took a bite, the daintiness of the action seemed to be both completely in character and strange in comparison to his harshness. 

“Will I need to break the news to her that you will leave?” Valjean asked softly.

Montparnasse covered his mouth to speak, polite scoundrel that he was. “I took the cookie damn it.”

“That you did.” Valjean nodded. “I will leave you be for now. Though I want to let you know, while it may not be worth anything to you, but I am proud of you. Immensely so.”

His face colored and he stopped chewing. It was as if he had been turned into a statue. Valjean assumed he was still staring in silence as he shut the door behind himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French ass cookies as a metaphor for a soul? It's more likely than you think!
> 
> Also catch Montparnasse for the next sitting under the covers like "....prouD of me? Proud???"


	3. Grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Montparnasse is given a chance to do more than just heal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also cosette is a badass

As Montparnasse healed the dark circles under his eyes deepened. 

Valjean suspected sleep was evading him for reasons other than pain. 

“It is good to see you up and about.” It truly was. He was beginning to get worried. “Cosette mentioned you were taking her out today.”

“Yes. There’s a corsetiére she believes I would like not far from the gardens. I tried to explain that I may not be the best option to walk with however when she’s decided on something she becomes impossible to convince otherwise.” Montparnasse gave a dramatic sigh; he was rather fond of those. Especially when the circumstances were less than dire.

Cosette had been adamant that she would find him something other than bandages to use on his chest when she had been told why they were still there. She even insisted that they could claim it was for theatre or a fashion statement of some sort if they were questioned. The girl was far bolder than Montparnasse would allow himself to be, which was saying something. The two of them together made Valjean feel his age in a number of ways.

“Not the best option?” Valjean smiled. “I doubt there’s anyone in the city who she would be safer alongside.” 

“I was referring to her reputation,” He began. “However, I realize that the two of you likely care more for snails in the garden than things like that.” 

Valjean laughed. “Perceptive. 

“We should be home by nightfall.” Montparnasse must have realized that he referred to this as his home as he quickly changed the subject. 

“I say ‘should’ as there’s a chance we run into that ridiculous boy she keeps making eyes at. If we do there’s no doubt they’ll need to stare longingly at each other for a few hours.” He scoffed and carefully put his hair back into place.

“Boy?” Valjean’s heart stilled. 

“A pretty fool with the social graces of a pigeon. He’s as harmless as a kitten and if my information is correct has a decent sum of money to his name, yet he interacts with other people as if it’s his first time meeting one.” He huffed at the idea. “Personally I find it stunning that Cosette feels anything for him but maternal concern.”

Valjean raised an eyebrow. “Have you been spying on this boy?”

Montparnasse paused. “With positive intent I assure you. I had to be certain he wasn’t a spy or perhaps someone who would cause her harm.” 

“For your sake I will pretend I’ve heard none of this should she ask.” He took on a mockingly conspiring tone; he understood that old habits were difficult to break. It was good to see him attempting to use them in a positive light. 

“Ask about what?” Cosette entered with a bright smile.

“Montparnasse has thoroughly evaluated this young man he says you’ve been interested in and finds him to be acceptable.” He couldn’t help it. 

His mouth fell open. “You weak traitor. Throwing me to the wolves without hesitation.”

Cosette immediately smacked him with her fan. “You haven’t scared him have you? I knew you would do this.”

“If he is chased away by simple recognizance then I’m stunned he noticed it and disappointed he didn’t confront me.” He truly did sound disappointed at the idea. Valjean suspected that Montparnasse actually wanted this boy to dramatically confront him, for what reasons he wasn't sure.

“You just want to torment him.” She scolded. Valjean could tell that there was a smile hidden under her frustration, either she found his teasing funny or was truly pleased with his worry over her. 

“Only some.” He took her arm with a grin. 

“Have fun. Do be safe.” Valjean called as they made for the door. 

“We will, Papa.” She gave Montparnasse a sidewise glance that told them both that this wouldn’t be the end of it.

Montparnasse firmly pretended not to notice. “We will, Sir.” 

Sir. That’s what Montparnasse had taken to calling him. He wasn’t quite comfortable with calling him something like ‘papa’; that much was obvious, however ‘sir’ held something else entirely. Montparnasse by nature was flippant, disrespectful even. He conducted himself as though he was an aristocrat being kind to the lowly peasantry, while plenty polite he never truly treated someone as though they were above himself unless he felt they truly deserved it. 

To call Valjean ‘sir’ with no hint of sarcasm or flirtation meant that Montparnasse held Valjean to a regard that he held no officer, noble, or royal. 

He was touched to have earned it. 

Montparnasse was incredibly nervous until he met the corsetiére. His face was soft, nearly as soft as his voice. Montparnasse didn’t want to jump to any conclusions however he was very much reminded of his own features. 

A wave of excitement that made him nearly dizzy hit him when Cosette glanced around the store and quietly informed the man “Good morning. I have my brother here with me today. We’re here for the corset like yours.”

It was doubled when the man brightened in response. “Oh yes, I remember you. The persistent girl asking about acting corsets until I thought I’d been had. I simply need to make some adjustments while it’s on him to be sure that it’s perfect. Come to the back room.”

It was a men’s corset that was designed to come up over the chest, thick straps of fabric that crossed in the back held it up. When on Montparnasse’s waist was slimmer, but fashionably so. Most excitingly his chest tapered up in an even way, the hard bone of the corset creating the illusion of the perfect look. 

It was obviously designed by someone who had been in his position as well as the inside of the corset had a softer material forming cups so that it could be worn without the worry of causing injury. It was perfect. He desperately wished he could do more than tear up and wave his hand in useless circles. 

The man refused to accept their money, insisting that the first one is free. Montparnasse, for once, actually wanted to pay for something. It was a new and honestly a bit frightening experience. 

Thankfully on their walk Cosette decided to circle back to talking about her boy as a distraction from Montparnasse’s near complete breakdown.

“I swear to you if you scare this boy away I’ll…I’ll shave your hair in the night.” Cosette threatened in a surprisingly gentle tone. 

“Devilish woman.” Montparnasse laughed. “Shouldn’t he prove his affections by overcoming some great challenge? He’ll adore you all the more when he decides that you’re worth risking everything for.”

“Such romantic notions.” She playfully bumped into him. “Have you been reading poetry while locked away?” 

“Breathe a word of it to a soul and you’ll lose your tongue.” He warned. 

“Oh I’m sure I will. Monsieur Dandy of the Sepulchre, you are a small dog that barks terribly loudly.” She teased. 

Montparnasse thought on it for a moment. “For you, perhaps. Yet you seem to be the inverse. A wolf that pretends to be a puppy for all to praise, but I know fangs and claws when I see them my dear. You simply would rather not get your pretty fur messy.” 

Cosette’s silence spoke volumes. “Does that speak ill of me?”

“Far more noble to be a wolf that never uses it’s in-born weapons than a dog that kills simply to be a wolf.” He suddenly laughed. “We’re getting far too introspective for a simple stroll aren’t we?”

She giggled and hid her face with her free hand. “I’d say so.” 

“I firmly believe it’s your fault.” He grinned. 

“Mine?” She put her hand on her chest.

“Oh yes, everything gets so emotional wi-“ Montparnasse stopped dead. 

“What’s wrong?” Cosette immediately began scanning the crowd to see what Montparnasse had seen. 

“I-It’s nothing I-“ He began to steer them down an alley when a man bumped into them. 

“Sorry sir,” The man was older, a hat mostly hid his face. “My regards to the misses.”

Montparnasse stared, unsure of what to say. Cosette however was undeterred in the slightest. 

She held her hand out with a smile as she stomped on every idea of secrecy and subtly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from my brother.” 

The man looked just as bewildered as Montparnasse for a moment before falling apart laughing and kissing her hand. “Taken up with some girl who’s as mad as she is pretty! It suits!” He sighed and shook his head. “It’s a shame you died. Didn’t think infection would get you. Oh, and while we’re being open like. Take a different way home today.”

Montparnasse nodded. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Dead men don’t talk kid.” He reached forward and pat Montparnasse on the shoulder. “Hope it treats ya well.” 

With that he turned and left.

Montparnasse watched him go. 

“Perhaps I’m not the one things get overly emotional around.” Cosette grinned. 

“Give me your fan this instant so I may beat you to death with it.” He blushed and led her down the alley.

“Instead how about we go to the Musain, I hear it’s a lovely café and we’ve never gone that direction before. We can have lunch there before going home.” Cosette locked her arm with his. 

Montparnasse huffed. “Yes of course, and I’m sure I’ll somehow make eye-contact with someone and fall head over heels in an instant with the way this day is going.”

“Well now you’ve jinxed yourself.” She had the audacity to look excited. 

By the end of the day Valjean did indeed have two love-struck kids to worry about. At least one seemed to be entirely bitter about the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up to you who he fell for (its probs jehan)


End file.
